“What about agritourism? Have you ever considered that?”
“You mean whoring out my farm so people can traipse all over it and complain about the high price of my funny-looking tomatoes when the ones at Meijer are a lot cheaper and prettier? No.”
“It’s one of the fastest-growing segments of the travel industry!” she went on, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. She was tenacious, I’d give her that. “An opportunity not only to educate and increase profits but also to offer an experience. There’s an entire generation of young people—which, by the way, is the most likely to be concerned about their food and more willing to pay more to get healthier options—who value experiences over things.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“I mean they prize doing things—and showing off pictures of themselves doing things—more than cars or jewelry or electronics. And they’re willing to pay to do them. So they come to the farm, have whatever amazing and authentic and delicious experiences we come up with, and then they post pictures of themselves on social media with a bunch of fun hashtags that make all their friends and followers go, ‘Hey! I want to do that or make that or eat that or buy that’ or whatever. Then they’re doing the PR work for you. For free!” Her smile lit up her face. “Doesn’t that sound good?”
Good? The last thing on earth I wanted was a bunch of people at my farm looking for me to provide them with entertainment. Fuck that. Not that I’d have a choice—I could just see Brad and Pete and Georgia getting all turned on by this idea. It was enough to make me pissed and resentful again, plus I could still smell her, I couldn’t stop looking at that pearl necklace at her throat, and every time our eyes met, my stomach tightened. I needed to leave.
“No. It sounds like a fucking nightmare. I gotta go.” Ignoring the twinge in my gut when I saw the way her face fell, I strode down the bar and out the door.
I wanted her out of my sight.
Eight
Margot
“So how’s it going?” Jaime asked. I’d called her on the walk home.
“It’s going well, I think. I met the clients today and they were very nice—well, most of them were.”
“Uh oh. Someone’s not nice?”
“Not to me, anyway. It’s the middle brother, Jack.” I pictured him sitting next to me at the bar and my heart pumped a little faster. He filled out a t-shirt like nobody’s business. Had he noticed the way I’d stared at his chest? I liked his eyes, too. They were dark but had flecks of gold in them. And I hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at my legs, the care he took not to get too close, the spark when he took my hand. Something was there. Why’d he have to be such a jerk?
“Is that the hot one? I saw the family picture.”
I bit my lip. “You think he’s hot?”
“Yeah. Don’t you?”
“I guess so,” I said cautiously, then quickly followed it up with, “but he’s not my type at all.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, besides the fact that he’s a scruffy, sweaty farmer who needs a haircut, he’s stubborn, grouchy, and ill-mannered.” Truthfully, I hadn’t minded his hair, his scruff, or his sweat earlier in the day. And tonight, he’d been cleaned up, combed and trimmed and smelling faintly like a beach bonfire. I kept wanting to lean over and sniff him.
Jaime laughed. “What’s he grouchy about?”
As I walked, I described my meeting with the family and what they’d told me about Jack. When I got to the part about his wife, she gasped.
“Oh my God, how?”
“Drunk driving accident.”
“That’s so sad!”
“Isn’t it? He still wears his wedding ring.” I’d noticed it right away tonight. “Georgia said they were so in love.”
“God, that sucks. Poor guy. This is why people shouldn’t get married. Bad things happen.”
I had to smile. “Is Quinn hinting around about proposing again?”
“Yes. God, if he really does it, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You guys are madly in love, you’ve been together for a year and a half, and you’ve lived together for months. Why not get married?”
“Because we’re happy!” she exploded, as if that explained it all. “Why fuck with that?”
Sighing, I glanced around. Had the walk to the bar taken me this long? “OK, whatever. Don’t get married. I think I’m lost.”
“Lost where?”
I stopped walking and turned a full circle, positive I hadn’t seen that park on the corner before. Nothing creepier than a playground in the dark. “Lost walking from town back to my cottage. What the heck, there weren’t even that many turns.”
Jaime laughed. “Hang up with me and use Google Maps or something. Then text me when you get there so I don’t worry about you wandering alone in the dark somewhere.”
“OK.”
“And then call me tomorrow so we can talk more about what you’re thinking for strategy.”